As I tap away at the trusty Victrola in Sunday's early morning light I reflect on the events of the week, and in particular yet another senior moment in the life of electrofried. Please do read on if you're prone to the odd memory-lapse yourself.
This Wednesday saw me train-bound to the wild excesses of Harrogate and the Chartered Institute of Housing's annual bun-fest, accompanied by the usual trusty flotsam of office-colleagues. We changed at York, long a favourite amongst train-spotters and photographers the world over.
The station is girded by a stunning lattice-work metalled roof of the most intricate beauty. Fashioned into one long and sensuous curve, it's been funnelling passengers into the North-Eastern railway network since the first train departed at 5:30 am on 25 June 1877. And it was here that I and my colleagues ventured in search of refreshment at the emporium of Master Costly Coffee.
He was sitting there in the corner when one of my colleagues spotted him.
'It's Gareth Southgate!'
Indeed it was the very same - Gareth Southgate, late of Crystal Palace, Aston Villa and Middlesbrough - player, manager, TV pundit and now Head of Elite Development at the Football Association - sipping quietly at a styrene-foamed muglet of Master Costly Coffee's finest. As a long-standing fan of the Villa, I summoned up the courage to take but a few steps across to the corner.
Ever felt your brain go to mush ....
I extended a hand, and fatefully uttered the words,
'I've always wanted to meet Gary Linekar!'
Mr Southgate looked up somewhat quizzically, but still deigned to shake the by now trembling hand I had proffered in greeting to him earlier.
'He's a bit older than me, you know.'
A true gentleman, he humoured me for a good five minutes more in light banter, despite the fact my brain had become disconnected from my lips at the very outset of our conversation. It quite restores one's faith in the old school of footballer.
Well, I don't know what Mr Southgate made of it all, but on my return to the fold of guffawing colleagues I realised my ill-placed words were already in the course of several texts back to the office. Oh dear, yet another electrofried senior moment, I'm afraid. But such is life!
Sunday 3 July 2011
Friday 24 June 2011
season's end
It all came to an end in the sunshine ... another season over.
Pale heroes in the dim floodlit pitch, where water-spirals arc before the chanting flag pass.
We watched it all,
my son and me
and bought the pies and chips and glossy Match-day Programmes,
that promised so much more.
They paraded before us,
in pale sunshine
with their wives and children
a toddler kicks the goal.
He waved as he left the pitch early
gone
applauded.
The seats lie empty now,
just the echoing footstep of my son and me
Season's End.
Pale heroes in the dim floodlit pitch, where water-spirals arc before the chanting flag pass.
We watched it all,
my son and me
and bought the pies and chips and glossy Match-day Programmes,
that promised so much more.
They paraded before us,
in pale sunshine
with their wives and children
a toddler kicks the goal.
He waved as he left the pitch early
gone
applauded.
The seats lie empty now,
just the echoing footstep of my son and me
Season's End.
Thursday 23 June 2011
Tuesday 21 June 2011
fathers' day and other tales
What a lovely day!
Six o'clock this morning sees me hunkered down in the electrofried kitchen composing a small homily for the Morning Service at our local Methodist Church. Our House Group is leading today, and we've got a baptism party in too .. so in less than seven minutes I have to cover the meaning of prayer, the joy of baptism, the Holy Trinity and Fathers' Day!
I go with six common misconceptions of prayer, and a tawdry tale of my own conversion some twenty one Fathers' Days ago, then offer up the briefest of prayers myself (principally concerning my unfortunate predilection for leaving things to the last minute). Fluffy the guinea pig plays a pivotal role in the composition of the piece. Hugged to my manly and still pyjamed chest he provides homely comfort and a pair of uncritical ears as I practice my lines outloud, much to the bemusement of Mollie and Dylanne, the two Hounds of electrofried.
Preparation done, and two infusions of Mr PG's finest in hand I return to the electrofried bedchamber to greet my darling wife. A veritable cornucopia of Fathers' Day presentry is produced from beneath the bed, including a rather splendid tome on the humble VW camper van and a selection of Martin Parr postcards.
Our son calls to wish me a happy Fathers' Day. He's learning disabled, and we conduct a delightful semaphore discussion of the "hot off the press" appointment of Alec McLeish as manager to his beloved Aston Villa. Bless!
The morning passes in a blur. Greeting the baptism party in the car-park, the delivery of said homily, then an unforeseen and testing interval of some twenty minutes as we await the arrival of our Minister from another Church to wet the heads of two girls in floating angel dresses. Our House Group leader and yours truly plug the gap. A mixture of choruses, ad libs and a journey out into the congregation to ask the important question, "What are you thankful for today?" sees us safely through.
Mrs electrofried and I return home, and what joy awaits. Family is just so precious isn't it? Our two daughters and our two grandsons are there to greet us. More presents, and two lovely cards. The first is a study in blue by our eldest grandson, freshly dried from Thursday nursery. The second, two precious set of little handprints in red paint. How poignant that is ... just six months ago we might have expected but one.
I choke back the tears, and open the final present of the day. Oh my!!! Two guinea pig leads purchased blind from the internet, one red and one ...... cover your eyes in shame, dear Fluffy ..... pink!!
He bore it stoically as eldest grandson and I walk two boars to the lawn and a browse on early summer grass. What a day, indeed!!
Six o'clock this morning sees me hunkered down in the electrofried kitchen composing a small homily for the Morning Service at our local Methodist Church. Our House Group is leading today, and we've got a baptism party in too .. so in less than seven minutes I have to cover the meaning of prayer, the joy of baptism, the Holy Trinity and Fathers' Day!
I go with six common misconceptions of prayer, and a tawdry tale of my own conversion some twenty one Fathers' Days ago, then offer up the briefest of prayers myself (principally concerning my unfortunate predilection for leaving things to the last minute). Fluffy the guinea pig plays a pivotal role in the composition of the piece. Hugged to my manly and still pyjamed chest he provides homely comfort and a pair of uncritical ears as I practice my lines outloud, much to the bemusement of Mollie and Dylanne, the two Hounds of electrofried.
Preparation done, and two infusions of Mr PG's finest in hand I return to the electrofried bedchamber to greet my darling wife. A veritable cornucopia of Fathers' Day presentry is produced from beneath the bed, including a rather splendid tome on the humble VW camper van and a selection of Martin Parr postcards.
Our son calls to wish me a happy Fathers' Day. He's learning disabled, and we conduct a delightful semaphore discussion of the "hot off the press" appointment of Alec McLeish as manager to his beloved Aston Villa. Bless!
The morning passes in a blur. Greeting the baptism party in the car-park, the delivery of said homily, then an unforeseen and testing interval of some twenty minutes as we await the arrival of our Minister from another Church to wet the heads of two girls in floating angel dresses. Our House Group leader and yours truly plug the gap. A mixture of choruses, ad libs and a journey out into the congregation to ask the important question, "What are you thankful for today?" sees us safely through.
Mrs electrofried and I return home, and what joy awaits. Family is just so precious isn't it? Our two daughters and our two grandsons are there to greet us. More presents, and two lovely cards. The first is a study in blue by our eldest grandson, freshly dried from Thursday nursery. The second, two precious set of little handprints in red paint. How poignant that is ... just six months ago we might have expected but one.
I choke back the tears, and open the final present of the day. Oh my!!! Two guinea pig leads purchased blind from the internet, one red and one ...... cover your eyes in shame, dear Fluffy ..... pink!!
He bore it stoically as eldest grandson and I walk two boars to the lawn and a browse on early summer grass. What a day, indeed!!
Saturday 18 June 2011
the book I read
On the morning of 4th June 2001, at 10.38 precisely, someone bought a Kit Kat from Kroger Retail Stores, Queen City Centre in Cincinnati, United States. It cost them 89 cents, and they paid with a five dollar bill.
I have no idea who bought the Kit Kat in question, but I do know they were served by a lady called Sonja. I also know Kroger's is listed in the Washington Post at 4777 Kenard Avenue. If, for any strange reason, you should want to telephone the store, you could do worse than try calling (513) 681-7650.
Evidently, Kroger sells more than a few Kit Kats. Its earnings for the fiscal year 2010 were in the order of $82.2 billion, a performance not to be sneezed at in this continuing credit-crunch maelstrom.
So how do I know all these things? I bought a second-hand book recently called, "Classic Crews", a lovely collection by the southern-gothic author, Harry Crews. It includes his autobiography, a short novel entitled, "The Gypsy's Curse" and a selection of essays.
The rather dog-eared edition came into my possession care of an on-line bookseller in Toledo, Ohio and sandwiched in the middle I found, to my great delight, the Kit Kat receipt. It's on the desk in front of me right now.
I pick it up for a moment, and seek to picture Sonja, the mysterious cashier. I think she must have been part of the regular team at Kroger's. 4th June 2001 was a Monday, so it was unlikely to have been a High School girl doing some weekend work.
And so I wonder if Sonja the cashier ever gave a thought to the purchaser of a solitary Kit Kat who tucked the receipt in the middle of a book called, "Classic Crews" that bears on the inside cover an inscription in blue ink that reads, "More for Lukie. 'The man pulling radishes that pointed the way with a radish'. My favorite. Go sit & have a think. Much love-o Davey (&stevie & francesca)", that found its way to the shelves of Book-Ink of Ohio in Toledo, en route to my library.
Probably not. But it was the book I read.
best regards,
electrofried(mr)
So how do I know all these things? I bought a second-hand book recently called, "Classic Crews", a lovely collection by the southern-gothic author, Harry Crews. It includes his autobiography, a short novel entitled, "The Gypsy's Curse" and a selection of essays.
The rather dog-eared edition came into my possession care of an on-line bookseller in Toledo, Ohio and sandwiched in the middle I found, to my great delight, the Kit Kat receipt. It's on the desk in front of me right now.
I pick it up for a moment, and seek to picture Sonja, the mysterious cashier. I think she must have been part of the regular team at Kroger's. 4th June 2001 was a Monday, so it was unlikely to have been a High School girl doing some weekend work.
And so I wonder if Sonja the cashier ever gave a thought to the purchaser of a solitary Kit Kat who tucked the receipt in the middle of a book called, "Classic Crews" that bears on the inside cover an inscription in blue ink that reads, "More for Lukie. 'The man pulling radishes that pointed the way with a radish'. My favorite. Go sit & have a think. Much love-o Davey (&stevie & francesca)", that found its way to the shelves of Book-Ink of Ohio in Toledo, en route to my library.
Probably not. But it was the book I read.
best regards,
electrofried(mr)
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